


Things I Used to Feel

by zanni_scaramouche



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood, D/s Vibes, Ghost Harry, Ghost Louis Tomlinson, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M, MCD, Oral Sex, Spooky, because..., graphic depictions of birth and death, ish, they're ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni_scaramouche/pseuds/zanni_scaramouche
Summary: Tomlinson Manor has been haunted for centuries when Niall Horan moves in and hangs a mirror that has no right to be there.Based on Prompt: “A ghost is attached to an object. the current owner of the object moves to a new house. the new house is haunted by another ghost, and they now need to learn to live with the situation”
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Harry Styles, Niall Horan/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Things I Used to Feel

**Author's Note:**

> I read the mediator series in my formative years and now we’re here. This may as well be titled ‘Niall the ghost fucker” but we aint mad about it. Pretty different from how I first envisioned it. Just a little something-something post Halloween vibes. Stay spooky. 
> 
> Based on a prompt from sagamemes : “A ghost is attached to an object. the current owner of the object moves to a new house. the new house is haunted by another ghost, and they now need to learn to live with the situation” AU
> 
> Encouraged by flasegoodnight (ris) & mercurial-madhouse (m) ♡ ♡ thank you both
> 
> no beta and it shoooows

The Manor has always been Louis’ home. In the bleak midwinter his mother succumbed to the ordeal of bringing him to life in a cloak of grief and terror. On the chilled marble floor he screamed his first lungful of air in a bath of blood mongst mourners. Under the wailing and shouts of panic, no one took the time to listen to his little heart beat. His life was not to be celebrated. 

His childhood was spent marking time into the floorboards of his room. A solitary lad without siblings and a father who could not bear the sight of him, Louis haunted the parlor rooms and kitchens with a penchant for mischief. His antics became house lore, every staff member knew to twist the locks on their doors at night and look twice before leaving to make sure they wouldn’t find the little devil underfoot. What that boy needed was a mother to smack him upside the head, it was agreed, or perhaps a father to straighten him out into a proper gentleman. 

It was no surprise to them when the accident occured. What could you expect from a child let loose? He scaled the bannister like a tightrope, some said. Others were adamant he’d been fooling by the railing and simply slipped. A very few whispered in the dark tunnels of the staffing quarters that it had been no accident. Regardless of the mystery surrounding it’s cause, the irrefutable matter of fact was the young man fell. 

The noises of the night were swallowed by the howling wind and the scratch of tree branches clawing at the windows, loose doors rattling with the force of the gales and shutters banging. No one heard the small cry of shock that left Louis’ mouth. No one heard the thud of his body hit the marble floor. In a bath of crimson on the unforgiving floor of the grand hall, Louis Tomlinson’s heart stilled. 

This didn’t stop the plague of mischief the inhabitants of the Manor had to handle. If anything, it grew worse. Throughout generations every pass of the land deed came with a warning: the halls may be empty, but you are never truly alone.

Niall Horan is a busy rock star with too little time and too much money to worry about superstitions. He needs a place to write his next album away from the prying public, and Tomlinson Manor needs a new owner after a decade of sitting vacant. He calls his people, who call their people, and by the time Niall takes his first steps through the heavy mahogany door his things are beginning to fill the space.

“Not there ya tits,” he smiles without malice at a group of winded movers straightening a mirror in the side corridor. “Deserves more respect than being hidden in the shadows like some third uncle. Pure gem, this is.”

He came over to stroke the elaborate gilded gold framing of the large mirror with a fond touch.

“Where would you like it, sir?” Asks a mover as he wipes his sweating brow. 

Niall gazes upon the wide expanse of the entrance hall. In a few steps he comes to the centre between the two grand staircases lining the space with their heavy sense of importance, his feet unknowingly stood where blood had soaked and could sometimes still be seen in a rusty tint during sunlight hours. Past the polished banister of the top floor Niall gazes upon the great expanse of bare wall. 

“Right there, impossible to ignore,” he nodded. 

With a wink and wave he left the men to their work, his skin vibrating with a newfound burst of creativity stepping foot on the property had brought him. His hands itch for a guitar. 

He strokes a few fingers along the walls as he goes, whistling a melody he’s already spun. Cold October sun filters through thick glass windows waved with age, rippling gently over his profile and highlighting the blue shine in his eye. His footsteps fall confident on the floorboards of the back porch as he comes to the other end of the house, guitar comfortably pressed against his body as he perches upon a bench. The breeze tousles his hair in a joyful welcome. Niall leans back to admire the sunset hued leaves rustling overhead. He has the oddest sensation that this place has been waiting for him, and now that he’s arrived he fits as a puzzle piece slots perfectly into its home. 

A fortnight has yet to pass before there is a glint in the mirror. It could be a reflection of sunlight streaking in the windows, or perhaps a twinkle of the chandelier diamonds catching the light. It is enough to catch Niall’s eye as he ascends the stairs for the final time that evening, ready to tuck himself in his room with a notebook and pen to leave his mind on the page. 

“Don’t be shy, petal,” He chuckles with affection as he gazes on the reflective surface. 

After one last moment with only the company of his own reflection, he parts with a sigh. With a little click of the door the master bedroom swallows him whole. 

The floorboards of the kitchen creaks. The sconces of the corridors inexplicably dim. A glint flares through the mirror, but instead of fading as quickly as it came, the light rolls along the surface to illuminate the vision of a young man. 

Soft curls frame his angular face, curious emerald eyes wide as they take in the growing shadows creeping into the Manor. Pale long fingers stroke the glass caging him as he admires the last rays of day twinkle in the chandelier until the final rainbow of refracted light blinks out. 

Darkness comes with a howling rush of wind through the halls, mimicking thundering feet. The wind gusts from all directions to the grand hall and slams itself against the mirror with enough force to cause a rattle. The boy in the mirror bites his berry blush lip. As suddenly as it came the wind ceases, leaving behind the still black of night humming with tension. 

A young man stands before the mirror. Shaggy unkempt fringe and hollow cheeks reinforce his thin lipped glare. He has no reflection. He doesn’t need one, Louis Tomlinson is well aware his appearance hasn’t changed in centuries.

“You can’t be here.”

The boy in the mirror pouts at the cruel tone. Louis growl is accompanied by the groan of the eaves. 

“This is my home. You can’t be here!” 

At the shocking rage the boy in the mirror flinches away and his appearance turns evermore translucent. With one last growl Louis rushes towards the mirror, vanishing an instant before collision. The boy in the mirror gives out a small shocked cry before fading just as suddenly as the sunlight. 

Regardless of the warnings and pitying looks he receives, Niall feels the house doesn’t see much mischief these days besides knocked sacks of flour and doors refusing to open. Little harmless amusements more than made up by the numerous teas staying hot for longer than they should and window drapes seeming to move of their own accord in coordination with the sun.

Louis likes Niall, is the thing. Loneliness exists even for the immortal and Louis has spent too long haunting a quiet home. From the first day Niall gave the impression he understands a place like the Manor could never truly be owned by something as simple as money and paper, besides wise he isn’t in want to claim it as his own. He is merely a guest and he treats the Manor as respectfully as one would a kind host lending a favour. If there at times are moments encouraging him to rethink his plans to sell and move on after his use for the place was done, well, he doesn’t let it go to his head. 

He fills rooms with scattered papers and journals half scrawled with the language of his heart strings. The woody scent of his evening fire warms the walls until they breathe, relaxed anew. His marvelous voice trails after him and echoes throughout every nook and cranny. When the night is long burning and his vision blurs from exhaustion or wine he could swear a complimentary rasp harmonizes alongside his crooning ballads. 

Louis likes Niall, but he doesn’t like everything Niall brought with him. 

The mirror in the grand hall weighs over three hundred pounds. It hangs heavy upon its fixings nailed straight into the foundation of the Manor. Yet the boy inside it moves with delicate whimsy akin to a flower in a breeze. His oversized white shirt slips over a shoulder to reveal the line of his collarbone while his hair falls around his face in graceful waves. He is the definition of grace. 

Louis wants to murder him. 

“Who do you think you are?” He demands in another night of confrontation. 

“Harry Styles,” the boy in the mirror answers with a low uptick to the name as though this is something he’s been told and doesn’t quite believe. 

“There’s no place for you here.”

“Niall says-“

“Don’t talk about him. He’s mine to haunt while he resides in my Manor.” 

Harry’s face creases in a show of annoyance.

“I’ve no wish to exist in more of this place than the physical shape of my golden home, but make not mistake, Niall will never be yours alone.”

“He won’t choose you in the end. I can make him stay, and when he does there will be no space for you.” 

With a flourish the shape of Louis disappears from sight, but his omniscient presence, as always, remains. Harry’s left pouting in his glass castle. 

The thing about Niall is that he’s always, constantly, shirtless. From sunup to sundown he strolls around with nothing on his chest but the hair God gave him and a golden Irish coin on a short chain around his neck. Such is the case when he palms the top banister of the stairs and takes pause to glance in the mirror. What he sees there brings a smile to his face. 

“Hello love.” 

Harry is knocked out of his contemplative stare and turns to Niall with youthful joy. Niall leans on the banister to fully face the boy next to him in the mirror. 

“Been awful without you.” 

“You really missed me?” Harry tucks a curl behind his ear with a coy smile. 

Niall indulges him.

“Always, pet.” A blush glows from Harry’s cheeks. Slowly Niall crosses his arms as he settles further and cocks his head to the side.”Wanna show how you missed me?” 

In the mirror glass Harry slides closer to the reflection of Niall, gaze low on his fingers lightly trailing over the railing before he stands directly beside him. Bright green eyes flash in the to stare straight into Niall before they gently fall closed and Harry tilts his head to lean in close to Niall’s reflection. A second before they meet in the mirror Niall closes his eyes. 

Achingly tender kisses trail along his neck. Long fingers meet the bare skin of his back and the light weight of a body against his makes itself known. Niall parts his mouth in anticipation as the press of lips lead closer to his mouth. With the first faint brush along his bottom lip a momentous shake rattles the bones of the Manor and jostles the mirror enough to split the pair apart. 

Niall’s eyes fly open with shock, meeting Harry’s concern in the mirror before his mouth twitches into a smile. In a show of amusement Niall chuckles and leans heavily into the sturdy railing, a confident hand stroking it’s polished finish. 

“Think someone’s a tad jealous,” he says with something akin to glee. He blows a kiss and winks while picking up a whistling tune that grows distant the further he goes. 

Harry is left pouting in the mirror. 

Niall takes his time discovering the unique qualities of the boy residing in the Manor. He learns through various trials that they are in favour of tea being left for them even if they can’t drink it and they are not fans of Niall’s shoe choices given the number of them gone missing. He learns that he sees them most vividly when he’s had half a bottle of wine and strums whatever song comes naturally to his fingers. 

On a night such as this the fire flickers enough light to see feathery shapes but leaves the corners well enough alone to their darkness. The melody he’s had upon arrival resonates through his chest as he hums. As it comes to an end it’s final note trails distantly, his mind searching for what will continue. A minute or an hour could pass in this silence before a delicate high night rings.

“Yes,” he breathes. 

Niall’s fingers automatically slide along the fretboard to find their place in the new key and he hums through the melody to matc. He plays it again, this time his voice crooning without words. There’s a harmony in there, and it takes him a blinking moment to realise it’s not just in his head. The sound is coming from beside him. When he turns to look there’s a boy curled on the sofa on the cusp of arms reach. Niall smiles. 

“There you are,” he says in the adoring tone of someone already enamoured. “Tell me your name, love.”

The boy is drawn in by the easy charm of Niall’s warm welcome. He leans closer, tempted. 

“Louis.” 

Niall sets the guitar gently to the side. 

“Louis, love,” he sits up in a subtle flow to cross the space between them. “When’s the last time you were touched?” 

Louis’ hair falls further into his eyes as he tilts his head in confusion, watching wearily as Niall moves to close the space between them. With a confident hand he threads fingers in Louis’ downy strands to hold him in place as their lips meet. The kiss lasts less than a seconds before Niall’s hand is filled with nothing but air. He licks his parted lips and slowly settles back into the sofa, easing the guitar into his lap as he resumes humming the melody.

Niall doesn’t have time for superstitions. He knows for a fact what goes bump in the night is more than black cats and wind vines. Has known since the flicker in his mirror became a boy he promptly fell in love with. Not all could see those lingering between life and vanishment, and not all those who could see could touch. Niall was a rare subset of a rare breed. He selfishly enjoys being so when it grants him Harry, particularly Harry like this. 

“That’s it pretty boy, show me.” 

Ivory skin flushes pink under the attention as Niall watches Harry in the mirror. His boy was on all fours working himself on his own fingers, pink cock swollen between parted thighs. Niall leans casually against the railing with a self satisfied grin. He thumbs the button of his trousers, only to pause at a flash of movement on the edge of his vision. Niall doesn’t let his focus stray from the boy in the mirror while he speaks. 

“Louis, come see.” There’s a waver in his left side vision, but nothing more. “Hazza’s not shy, are you love?”

Harry whines particularly loud as he manages to slip in a fourth finger, pumping them steadily as his cock leaks on the reflected marble floors. 

Louis arrives at Niall’s shoulder with avid eyes taking in the messy picture framed by gold. Unwittingly he drifts forward to get a better look at the masterpiece before him. He’s witnessed a fair share of uncouth acts in the time spent in these halls, yet none has ever been so sublime as this portrait of allure. 

“He does this for you?” He asks. 

Niall presses against Louis’ back and smooths a hand along the slim dip of his waist when he startles. He noses at the shell of Louis’ ear in a tease. 

“For us,” he murmurs, his own eyes split between watching Harry fall apart and the way Louis’ melting into his touch. No one could resist the beauty of Harry, it was easy to tell the boy was not the only one Louis had been jealous of. “I asked him to show me how much he wants you.” 

Louis has no need to breathe, yet Niall feels the shutter of his chest as the boy's eyes widen and turn glassy. Niall’s broad hand sinks lower on his tummy. 

“Say thank you.” 

“T-thank you,” Louis manages. Just as Niall’s hand circles his cock he dissipates, Niall’s arms left empty. 

Niall crouches so his reflection kneels before Harry. Slowly he slips out his cock and tilts the boys chin upwards, wet eyes meeting him as he presses close to the petal soft lips. 

“Good boy,” he coos as he slowly sinks into Harry’s velvet warmth.

Harry has always been in love with Niall. Since the day his reflection first crossed the expanse of Harry’s mirror in an antiques sale, Harry’s been wrapped around the man’s finger. 

Niall had only stopped by the musty dim lit store to step out of the torrential downpour Harry could hear hammering the tin roof. He’d shaken off his coat and paused to fuss with his hair in the mirror. 

Something about his face, his eyes, his lips, had made Harry appear solidly for the first in eons. He used to do it as a trick on the unsuspecting vain patrons, but on this occasion his sudden appearance wasn’t out of anything more than curiosity that grew tenfold when Niall met green eyes in place of his blue in the mirror. Instead of the expected jump of fright or cross frown of confusion, he’d simply smiled. 

“Hello love,” he’d murmured with warmth that filled Harry’s cold glass cage. From that day he’s spent years hung in Niall’s bedroom learning the most intimate parts of him and being adored in turn, and he’s never wanted more. Which is why he’s confused by the jealousy of the boy in the Manor. 

“There can only be one,” Louis states firmly with a rattle in the pipes.

Harry tugs at the frills of his thin shirt and brushes an errant curl from his face that does not listen and falls back in place. This time he leaves it be. 

“There’s no need to choose if he loves us both.” Harry says. 

“No.”

Harry scans the figure of the boy across from him, enjoying the delicacy paired with his fiery eyes. “I could love you, couldn’t you ever love me?” 

The Manor stills, not a single mouse stirring or breeze blowing in the frozen moment of Louis’ shock beneath the blunt truth of an angel. Harry bites his lip in waiting and Louis aches. 

“I… I can’t touch you like I can him,” Louis admits morosely, an undercurrent of longing in his tone as he continues, “like he you.” 

The thought of them together as such, without Louis, it makes a rage bubble under his skin. He never shared a thing in his life, and he is unable to do so even in the afterlife. 

“Won't you try?” 

“No!” The Manor quakes to it’s very core, cracks splitting along the ceilings while wood and stone groan in protest. 

“Louis,” Harry soothes as gently as he can, savouring Louis’ name on his lips for the first time. 

Louis looks up to him with a face twisted with anguish and anger. Footsteps storm from within the Manor, a stern call of Louis’ name from Niall’s lips drowned beneath the noise of the destruction. 

“It’s not fair!” Louis cries while the shudders continue to wreak havoc. “I want to touch too!” 

His fingers raise just as Niall tops the last of the stairs.

“Niall,” Harry’s wavering voice sounds in worry as he watches his lover race closer. 

“Louis don’t!” Niall yells, but he’s too late. 

Louis’ fingers brush the glass as a diamond from the chandelier shakes loose and flies into the mirror, it’s impact sending the mirror shattering. Louis’ eyes widen in disbelief as the falling fragments shower down. 

Niall raises his arms to cover his face, slivers and shards slicing into the tender flesh of his forearms while he stumbles blindly backwards. Louis reaches out a moment too late. 

A small gasp of shock leaves Niall's mouth as he falls backwards. His body meets marble amongst a glittering field of glass. 

“Niall,” Louis whispers, in shock of what’s happened as he looks upon the horror of crimson below. A tear rolls down his cheek. 

A finger brushes it away, startling him. 

“Don’t cry, Lou,” Harry chides gently. Louis holds Harry’s hand to his cheek before he can pull away, savouring the feel of his palm. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers. 

Harry ducks close to brush their noses together. “Don’t be.”

“But Niall-”

“It’s all right love,” a new voice soothes. Louis presses backwards into the strong body behind him as hands hold the slim part of his waist. Lips brush the shell of his ear. “Listen to Hazza.” 

Niall and Harry share a joyful look over Louis’ shoulder, a long awaited joy growing within them. It’s sooner than planned and with an unforeseen addition, but as they both fall upon Louis it’s unanimously decided it was perhaps the push they needed. 

Niall Horan’s body will be found under the collapsed Tomlinson Manor. There will be murmurs of the oddity found at the scene, for those first on sight were sworn to say in a bath of blood amongst glass, he’d been smiling. As though in death he had something to celebrate. 

In all his time spent working in the Manor Niall had only finished one song, a simple love ballad on an unrefined recording that will warp one of his vocal tracks to sound like someone else completely. In the months following it will be released post mortem with a small dedication:

_For Louis, my heart. For Harry, my soul._

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
